


molly o'shea/reader

by La_Rata



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Rata/pseuds/La_Rata
Summary: for that one guy on tiktok
Relationships: Molly O'Shea/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	molly o'shea/reader

Black coffee burns my mouth and I hold my breath until the coffee is gone. It leaves a similar burning sensation in my throat when I finally sigh, putting the tin cup down next to me in the grass. The rock I'm sitting on grows gradually more and more uncomfortable, and soon I'm forced to slide down onto the wet grass, leaning against the rock in the process. In rushed stroaks, I sketch a certain redheaded woman I've come to endear in the past few months. She, in the picture, also sits in the grass. She has her back against a tree as she stares out over a cliff's edge. In her down-turned eyes are a stoic melancholy look, a sight I've come to recoginze from her.

If she's not looking at everyone with a hawk like suspicion, she's staring out at the scenery of the camp by herself. Her arms are typically crossed or her hands are twidling amongst themselves unknowingly to her. The look of defeat on her face causes a feeling of disappointment churn my gut, like this is my fault. It almost doesn't even look natural, like she's somehow faking it for a show. If she is faking it, she's very good at what she does. It's almost as though her face was never accustomed to discomfort and pain. I knew she came from a life of priviledge, but one has to experience some amount of pain in their life. Right? Especially in these trying times.

I run aimless lines down her cheeks, spilling onto her chest. She has her hand up to her mouth as she furrows her brows in contempt. The sun before me slowly rises and insects begin nipping at my exposed arms and neck. I swat at them in vain. I don't hear footsteps approach from behind. "What're you doin'?" An irish woman inquires from over my shoulders. My heart pounds quickly against my chest, looking over my shoulder in surprise. I slam the book shut and turn away, looking down to hide the simmering blush that had crept onto my face. "Nothing." I clear my throat and go to stand.

"Can I see what you were drawin'?" She asks again, a look of curiousity in her eyes. I catch myself staring into them for longer than I should. This was one of the few moments where I've seen her happy in a few weeks. A small grin tugs at the ends of her lips and there's a playful glint in her eyes. I must look cold, staring blankly at her. I decide to double down and say "It's you." I grin and put my sketch book into my satchel. She lets out a short laugh and says, "Really?" I nod and give her a knowing look before turning to leave like the coward I was.

Before I can earnestly leave, she presses to see the picture again. I see her stepping towards me with a smile eating away at my heart. I give in under her gaze and open the book, flipping to the page without really thinking about what I was doing. I hand her the book to see, my face aflame with embarrasment. She looks at it and pauses before her smile grows. "Wait, you were actually drawing.. me?" She looks to me in confusion. "Why am I crying? Is that how you see me?" Her smile disappears and theres an accusing look in eyes that were, only moments ago, warm. My heart drops and my eyes widen in surprise. My face only burns harder and I quickly begin sputtering an apology before she shoves the book back to me.

"I'm not just a crying damsel, ya know?" She snaps. As she storms away I quickly say "That's not what I meant!" She glances at me over her shoulder. I can see her face is also red. She continues away from me towards the building. It's only then do I realize she wasn't wearing any make-up. By this point I had calmed down and a headache was reaching my forehead. I sigh through my nose, returning back to where I was sitting. The swamp surrounding me was becoming overwhelming but I ignored it. I crossed my legs and leaned my head in my hands, sipping the now luke-warm coffee in thought.

Later that day, I hop off my horse Crawfish upon entering the camp. Grimshaw half-heartedly greeted me and I waved, plucking a rabbit off the right side of my horse. I go to pull a turkey off the other side of the horse when I feel eyes on my back. I turn and see, from a distance, Molly staring at me from the other side of the camp. She has her arms crossed with one hand letting a finger linger on her lips. She stands idle at the singular dock, rotting wood assuring her with stability. Her regularly tamed red hair spirals around her shoulders in a haphazardly kempt braid.

I challenge her gaze for a moment, only for her to not back down. A shiver runs down my spine and I blush, turning away. I haul the game over to pearson's table. He thanks me and I wander away in thought, brushing my dirt caked hands on my skirt. I huff in disatisfaction at the sight of my arms. Bug bites, scratches and mud. Man hands. Making my way over to a different edge of the camp where land meets water directly, I squat down and begin washing my arms in the water. The cold water in contrast to the humidity is a feeling I had been longing for hours.

After drying my arms, I pull my hair down and yawn. The sun was setting in the other direction and my bones ached for food, sleep, a bath. I only could provide one of these things at the moment, so I made my way over to my cot.

Before me was a sight I had been imagining for years. Molly, discreetly leaning against a tree near my cot, with her arms crossed. Butterflies overwhelm my stomach as a giddish grin creeps onto my face. She seems lost in thought, she doesn't notice me. That or she wants me to say something. "Hello?" She looks to me and motions for me to follow her. Her chin jerks in the direction of deeper swamp and I get anxious. I look around for any watchers before following her.

Mud stains the edges of her dress and I look to her, only to notice that she doesn't seem to mind. I can't help but think this is out of character for her. When the camp becomes nothing but distant light and laughter, she turns to me. In the darkness I can only see her outline. Only vaguely can I see that she's been crying. She grabs my hand and sandwiches it between both of hers. My face seethes in red at this notion and I huff, looking away from her. She crosses her eyebrows while looking down at my hand.

Eventually she asks in a meek voice, "Do.. do you think Dutch loves me?.." The sound of utter loss in her voice makes my knees buckle in on themselves, but still do I stand. I meet her eyes. "Do you want my honest opinion?" I ask, unsure of how battered she really is from the entire situation. She nods. I pause before leaning closer. "No. I don't think he's ever gotten over Annabelle." She chokes and falls onto me in defeat. She sobs and grabs my back as though there was nothing else to lean on. I wrap my arms around her slowly, shocked by how quickly this escalated. I turn my head away and burn silently, rubbing her back in a meek attempt to comfort her.

"I don't know what to do, I gave up everything for that pig!.." She sputters, turning her head on my shoulder to breathe. The sheer amount of frustration in her voice sends me reeling. She gasps for air and lets out a shaky sigh. I get her to look up at me and I melt at the sight of her. Running mascara, dripping down onto her chest. Her lip has the deepest frown I'd ever seen - she can only be described as pitiful. Her face is marred with dark lines and stress marks. She'd been crying so much lately. Her eyes are puffed.

I look deep into her eyes and caress her cheek, almost brought to tears just at the sight of her. "How could you not see?" I ask, not meaing to sound accusing. She shakes her hand and falls back into me, sputtering that she didn't know. She tugged me down as she fell down to her knees. Mud caked her skirt and mine, soaking to my skin. After a moment of rocking back and forth, she spitfully asks "What does this Annabelle have that I don't, huh?" I continue to rock the two of us back and forth for a while, unable to give her a response without being sarcastic. There many qualities Annabelle possessed that not many other women had. It was unfair of Dutch to expect Molly to live up to a dead woman's legacy instead of acknowledging Molly in her own respect. The thought of his selfishness made my blood burn red.

It had been a half hour before I realized she had not calmed down, yet she had fallen asleep. In this environment? Where her hair sticks to her face and bugs threaten disease at every passing second? She's covered in a sheen of sweat, but then again, so am I. Her breathing has become passive and I come to realize that she probably hasn't been sleeping that much before hand. I lean against a tree behind me, and she slumps onto my lap in exhaustion. My heart fires brightly at the sight and feeling of it. Her hand lightly grips the thigh of my dress and I touch my face with my free hand, acknowledging how hot my skin was with the humidity and the situation playing both their hands.

I didn't manage to fall asleep.

The morning sun flows through the fog of the swamp. It casts a beam directly across her eyes and long nose, waking her. My clothes stick to my flesh in sweat. It feels horrible but it doesn't contrast in how she feels at my mercy. She sits up and turns to me. We give each other a knowing look and I resist the need to lean into her. Her lips are parted and smudged with red lipstick. The perspiration hadn't left her skin either. Her eyes glint and turn away from me as she stands. She asesses how muddy her expensive dress is before leaving, heavy steps to avoid her boots getting lodged in the mud. She doesn't bother to send a regretful look at me from over her shoulder like she had previously. Prideful, I think. I scoff and look down at my lap where she had been sleeping not 5 minutes prior.  
Just like Dutch. Prideful.

I linger before making my way towards the outskirts of the camp, just to grab a change of clothes from my cot. I see Javier looking at me with the most blatant look of suspicion on his face. He doesn't need to feel the need to hide it when I match his gaze. I turn and make my way back into the swamp with a revolver tucked into my back pocket. Snakes slither away at the sound of me walking past. Dead grass and weeds accumulate at the ends of my skirt and around my feet. I hate the feeling with a passion but I don't want to ruin my riding shoes.

Upon arriving at the other side of the bayou, I set my clothes along a high enough branch before stripping entirely. I step into the water and sit down in the mud, almost completely submerged up to my mouth. My hair flows around my head without direction. The sun simmers waking her. My clothes stick to my flesh in sweat. It feels horrible but it doesn't contrast in how she feels at my mercy. She sits up and turns to me. We give each other a knowing look and I resist the need to lean into her. Her lips are parted and smudged with red lipstick. The perspiration hadn't left her skin either. Her eyes glint and turn away from me as she stands. She asesses how muddy her expensive dress is before leaving, heavy steps to avoid her boots getting lodged in the mud. She doesn't bother to send a regretful look at me from over her shoulder like she had previously. Prideful, I think. I scoff and look down at my lap where she had been sleeping not 5 minutes prior.  
Just like Dutch. Prideful.

I linger before making my way towards the outskirts of the camp, just to grab a change of clothes from my cot. I see Javier looking at me with the most blatant look of suspicion on his face. He doesn't need to feel the need to hide it when I match his gaze. I turn and make my way back into the swamp with a revolver tucked into my back pocket. Snakes slither away at the sound of me walking past. Dead grass and weeds accumulate at the ends of my skirt and around my feet. I hate the feeling with a passion but I don't want to ruin my riding shoes.

Upon arriving at the other side of the bayou, I set my clothes along a high enough branch before stripping entirely. I step into the water and sit down in the mud, almost completely submerged up to my mouth. My hair flows around my head without direction. The sun simmers atop my head and I breathe a sigh through my nose in discontent. I brush my hair with my fingers with languid strokes. Mayflies dance across the waters edge in the morning's glory, and fish reap the rewards of this process. I have half a mind to reach forward and grab one.

I'm laughing to myself as I think about certain memories when I hear soft steps on the shore behind me. I spin my head around and see Javier standing betix the trees with a surprised expression. We stare at each other for a second. "What do you want?" I ask irritably. "What were you two doing? Alone?" He asks in an accusing voice. I'm processing what he asked when he fires more questions. "Mutiny? Were you planning an escape with Molly?" I close my eyes and shake my head as a definite 'no'. He furrows his brows and stands idle, like he's wanting more from this interaction.

"But," I start. "If I did want to leave, I'd be free to, right? Not saying-" He jump starts to interrupt me. "Not saying I want- or I would!" He pauses before lowering his defensive shoulders. "You're not loyal to Dutch?" My eyes widen and I say, "I never said that. I'm just asking a question!" He leans in between one foot and the other before amicably saying that if I wanted to I couldn't. I turn away and face the lake and say I wasn't going to anyway. I don't hear him leave. Looking at him through the corner of my eye, I ask why he's still here. His face reddens and he disappears back into the bayou without a rebuttle. He didn't bring back up the fact I was alone with Molly in the woods for a few hours once I brought up the idea of leaving Dutch. Obviously that wasn't the meat of his suspicion. I breathe a sigh of relief and settle back into the water.

Slipping on the clean dress and hanging up the wet counterparts, I arrive back at the camp within 15 minutes. I find a hair tie at my cot and twist my hair into its usual bun before grabbing my repeater and bow, ready for another day of hunting anything bigger than a doe. Cutting directly through the middle of the camp, I hear Dutch's shrewd voice call out my name from the back of the camp. I look towards the lumbering building and see him standing on the top balcony, leaning against the railing. A cigar hangs from his lips. Ash gets in his soul patch as he moves the cigar from one end of his mouth to the other absent mindedly. I half-heartedly wave and he motions for me to come to him. Without question I do, not thinking about the shit I may be in.

I open the door to the balcony and he turns towards me, leaning against the railing. "Y/n." He states. "Do you know what Javier has told me?" He takes a long drag from his cigar and only then does a sweat begin to build up on my forehead. "Uh, no?" I cross my arms. "He says, that you and my Molly spent a night in the woods together. Alone. Now she won't even look at me." I resist the urge to say something along the lines of how he won't look at her in the first place. It doesn't take a fool to know that he'd been neglecting her for the past couple months. I don't realize I'm gazing downwards until he snaps "Look at me." A cold feeling ruptures down my spine to see an unfamiliar look in his deep brown eyes.

Hostility. Towards me? This is new. The ground beneath me feels uneasy, as it hasn't felt in a very long time. "Dutch? What're you implying?" I manage to ask with some solidarity. Yet my own eyes decieve my true feeling. "Javier says Molly had more to say about this... She said you brought up Annabelle. Is that true?" There's no point in lying to him when he already knows the answer. He just wants to catch me in a lie, as though I had done anything wrong in the first place. "Yeah, I did." I keep my answer short and curt so he can get the message that I'm not backing down from this confrontation.

His face reddens from his neck up and a hint of a vein pops above his left eyebrow. I match this with a placid expression. "Why?" He practically shouts, dropping his cigar and stomping on it before closing in on me. I don't move from my spot, but my lip does quiver in surprise. I've never had him act this way towards me before. "It's unfair the way you treat her. You realize she'll never be Annabelle, right? How can you just expect that from her when she's already more than you could ever deserve?" I shout this while looking directly up into his raging brown eyes. My own eyes mist over with boiling emotion, but I'm not about to start crying. I realize the whole camp must be listening at this point, we're outside still and we aren't exactly being quiet.  
I huff and watch his fists ball up in sheer frustration. I bit the inside of my lip and wonder if he'll actually hit me, though I doubt it heavily. He would never strike a woman. "It wasn't your place." He hisses through his teeth. I burn in frustration and slight fear. We stand like this for a solid moment, challenging each other with our gazes. He eventually shoves past me into the building without another word, leaving me stunned. I look down and see half the camp looking up at me in astonishment. Or, at least, I tell myself that's what it is. I heave a sigh and follow in suit with him. Carrying myself down stairs, Tilly gives me a passing greeting. She must've not heard the commotion. I say hello and go outside.

Everyone has returned to their business as have I, yet unlike everyone else, my face hasn't calmed down. I storm towards my horse and delicately put the weapons on her saddle before getting on the saddle. Uncle waves from the corner of my eyes as I hurry out of the camp's vicinity. Crawfish huffs and sprints forwards into the trees without much hesitation. She loves going on runs, especially runs that turn into hunting. Dust flies behind us dramatically in our wake. Grass and trees glide past my field of vision. Tears spill from the shock of the event that had occured and I lean down against Crawfish for comfort. She slows but doesn't stop. She sputters and continues at a knowingly calm pace, lulling me into a better mindset.  
I run repeating strokes down her maine in an attempt to pet her absent mindedly. She takes me to a pond in the middle of the woods. We're some distance from the swamp at this point, on the west side of Lemoyne. She puts her head down and starts sipping from the pond. I slide off of the saddle and sit down near her. The cicadas hum loudly around us and the sun peers through the tree line gently, as though it didn't want to upset me further. After a moment, I splash the water on my face and arms while somehow not getting it on my shirt. Not that it matters at the moment. I sigh and remember there's a spare sleeping bag attached to Crawfish's saddle.

I unroll it and lay on it, letting down my hair. I stare up at the sky and listen as Crawfish lays down next to the pond. I begin to hear her soft snores and my heart swells at the sound. In that moment I acknowledge how much I love that damn horse. The reality of the situation crushes me in an instant. Tears flow freely down the sides of my face into my ears. Into my hair. I rest my arm on my forehead and close my eyes. She told Javier everything. How much was there to tell? She obviously didn't feel shame about turning to me when she spoke with him. Yet she couldn't look me in the eyes this morning when she left? My heart pulls more tears to spill. Did she hear what I said in the heat of the argument with Dutch? I was very loud. I blush in embarrasment and wonder if she watched as I stormed out of the camp.

Turning onto my shoulder, I pick at the grass along the edge of my sleeping bag. The process of uprooting earth seems to clear my mind for the moment, though my face ceaselessly burns in shame. Javier wasn't to blame for his unfaultering loyalty to Dutch. It's well known that Dutch is practically all Javier has in the states. Granted he doesn't have anything in Mexico either. He's invested his life into Dutch, he can't risk anything now. But I can't help but feel like this is personal. I turn and roll onto the other shoulder so that I could look out at the pond. Amicably, my Crawfish looks at me from the corner of her eyes. I look back at her and my heart warms at the sight. Such a pretty animal. So dumbly loyal and stout, like Javier. Molly creeps onto my mind like a fever. I look back to the pond and think about how much it reminds me of her.

My fingers curl in on themselves while I imagine holding her hands. Between my own calloused hands would be her milky white hands, scattered freckles not marring but enhansing her delicate beauty. Mine are warm and dirty like that of a mans. In contrast to Dutch's, would she let me hold her? Would the sensation be too foreign? A sigh escapes my nose and my eyelids betray my active mind. I fall asleep soon enough after I pulled the blanket up to my chin. My dreams are vacant and dark, as they tend to be without fault.

I return to the camp at the crack of dawn. Crawfish ambles over to the other horses without being told and I make my way over to my cot. I slump onto it and relish how soft it is compared to the cold earth. Soft voices arise in the distance, Pearson and Uncle, I think. Who cares? I rub my face and huff in disatisfaction at my inability to sleep.

Despite this, my bones still ache as though I had never slept in the first place. And on top of it all, I'm sweating just as hard as I had been before. I send a stray glance to the towering building and see in a window a certain redhead. She's passing the window just as I look but it sends my heart flying in anxiety. I turn my head. I'm going to leave the gang, just then I decide.

Hours top hours as I lay there pondering how I'm going to go about this. I love the gang, but one can only be so attached. And I would be lying if I said my skin didn't itch to be alone for longer than 48 hours at a time. I want to be on my own. This urge, however, is conflicting with the redheaded woman that continues to plague my mind as I think about these things. Her soft irish voice coming to wake me up in the morning, to tell her thoughts and concerns. To coo at me in love. To be my equal. Then I acknowledge that she isn't necessarily made for the outdoors, and I wouldn't necessarily be indoors. Not if I could help it. She wouldn't be able to come with me even if she wanted to. But if she really wanted to she would adapt, right? If I really wanted to, would I adapt to the lush life of priviledge for her? Would we escape across the ocean to her home to live out our days in Dublin?

That doesn't sound that bad. I touch my lips and look up at the now overcast sky. Dutch. Now that's a roadblock to be reckoned with. She's been torn over the man since she joined the gang some time ago. I don't know how she doesn't see straight through his facade. He's a man of empty words and rash action. I scratch my eye. Soon I sit upright and make my way over to Pearson's table. He looks up at me silently as I grab a chunk of mildly seasoned venison. I then grab a bottle of whiskey and stuff it into a back pocket before approaching the building. Not a word exchanged.

The inside of the building is slightly colder than outside but it doesn't snuff the anxiety high I'm currently riding. I climb the stairs and open Molly's door. She sits on the bed with her hands delicately intertwined in her red hairs. She stills and looks to me in shock and confusion. I grab the whiskey bottle and hold it close as though it were a safety blanket for a child. Popping it open I swallow my fears. I close the door and step towards her. "Leave with me?" I take a heavy swig of the beverage and look directly into her simmering green eyes. Her lip twitches and she lets go of her hair. "What?" Is all she manages to say. My heart flutters and I repeat myself with more feinged confidence. "I'm leaving here today. And I wanted to know if you wanted to come with."

She scoffs and turns away, refusing to blink. She rests her hands on her lap and goes silent in what I can only assume is astonishment. I take the moment to take another timid sip from the amber drink. My emotions are brewing heavily as it threatens to spill over my eyes. The breaking point happens when she looks to me with a defeated look and says no. She can't. She won't? I look to her and she shakes her head and repeats that she can't. In a blink of frustration the bottle flies from my hand through the already broken window causing a loud crash. She jumps and stifles a shout. "Why not?" I sputter in an act of lost desperation. She continues shaking her head while staring out the dismantled window with her small mouth agape. My mind stills and I fall to my knees, taking hold of her hands that had been resting on her lap.

She looks down at me with pity. Pity? I blink and see it. She bites the inside of her lip and apologizes. In a spur of emotion, I reach for my revolver and pull the trigger in a flash. Blood spatters on the roof above the two of us. It drips calmly. I hear horses causing a commotion outside to the sound. Flies hum directly in my ear and I can't hear a thing. Only ringing. Her body falls limp on the bed and she lets go of my dirty hands. I reach forwards and firmly touch her hands once more, thrilling over the sensation. Blood seeps into the white sheets and blankets. Seeps onto my skin. Drips onto her face. I climb onto her and cradle her pale face. Her open mouth and empty eyes that once glistened. Tears don't fall to mix with the crimson red. An array of butterflies arise at the pit of my stomach and I move away from her willingly. I lean down and grab the gun.

The door bursts open and I'm met with Dutch's ragged breath and popping veins. I aim at him but it's all a bluff. "Put that gun.. down!" He heaves, taking in the sight before him. Gradually I make my way over to the previously shattered window. It leads out to the balcony, and from there I planned to jump down the story and make a run for Crawish. Dutch seemed to be two steps ahead of my plan, however. The closer I inched towards the window, dropping blood periodically, he came closer with his hands extended towards me. One could even call it surrender, though that's just nonsense. This is Dutch.

I screamed and shoved the gun close to his chest in false threat. Though how false was it? "Leave me go!" I shouted with the most white hot anger I could muster. He continued towards me with his arms abroad as though it changed any of the circumstances. The situation brought attention from a good half of the gang. They stood idle at the door with agape eyes. I refused any more hesitation before throwing myself over the railing of the patio. The grass mildly caught my fall but that didn't stop my chest from seething in icy pain. I gathered myself and sprinted to Crawfish, clutching my dress in one hand and the revolver in the other. Eyes burned into my back as I ran breathlessly.

Crawfish wasn't prepared for my sudden weight but adjusted quickly with little resistance. I shoved the gun into my holster and kicked forwards, causing a snort to erupt from Crawfish. I was in the trees within blurry moments. Tears fall senselessly down my cheeks but I can't see anything. I lean down and grip the reins tighter before completely ignoring my surroundings, letting Crawfish take me anywhere. She seemed to enjoy this small gesture of independence. I could feel the frolic in her step as she flew through patches of weeds and flowers. Only then did I begin to smell the blood on me, and my stomach churned harder than it ever had. I shouted and began frantically wiping down my dress with my bare hands but to no avail. Rhoades wouldn't see me like this without imminent law enforcement.

Perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing? I shake my head and feel my head spin momentarily. My unwashed hair clings to the sides of my face before I brush it behind my wet ears. It had been around 30 minutes before my shaky composure stilled. Saint Denis was glimmering behind me as I approached a small abandoned town. The sight of it made my skin crawl but Crawfish seemed to know what was best for both of us. There was a well seemingly filled with water, and the houses were sturdy enough. She slowed and let me fall onto my feet. Shocks of stiff pain riveted up my bones but I ignored it to the best of my abilities. Crawfish wandered over to a particularly soft patch of grass and begun to lay down, huffing in content.

Searching through the pockets of her saddle, I found 43 dollars and a fresh set of clothes. I muttered something to myself in annoyence at the quickness of my brash nature. How did this even happen? Tears threatened my dry eyes before I looked to my horse for comfort. She ate away at the grass before her head as though she had no problems in the world. I chuckled to myself and tried a hand at imagining myself in her predicament. All she has to do is carry luggage and occasionally run with me on her back. I reach forward and begin to stroke her mane in an attempt to comfort her. Like she's the one who needs comforting at the moment. She leans into my touch before laying her head down entirely in exhaustion. She's so lazy...

I pull the clothes out of their folded states and step inside one of the buildings. A cold chill creeps into my feet the moment I enter but I ignore that. After I slip on the alternative dress, I set up a cot and sit down on it. It squeaks and bounces. As I'm lost in my own idle thought, I hear the sound of multiple horses outside. I stand and move to the window with my hand hovering over my pistol. Pressing my back against the wall next to the window, I turn and look outside. A familiar white hourse bellows outside in the middle of the town, approaching my Crawfish. Atop this magnificant steed is Dutch himself. My heart stills and I move away from the window to step outside in confrontation.

Before he even sees me he's shouting into the air. "Y/n! I know you're here, you left your goddamn horse!" His face is red in what either is frustration or exhaustion. Perhaps both? I didn't even notice Charles and John following in suit. John looks to me almost immediately and points to me. "She's right here, Dutch." He says before turning away from me. Dutch spins around and glowers at me. I suppose he expects me to begin shitting bricks on the spot, but still do I stand at the door with my arms crossed. He then waves a hand at the two, wanting them to leave. At this I'm confused. They silently leave without much question, seemingly irritated at this entire situation I've made


End file.
